Sesame Saw
by AnyankaHarris
Summary: This is a collaboration of Sesame Street and Saw, involving Elmo and Rosita. The monsters find themself in a difficult situation.
1. Chapter 1

**Sesame Saw: **

He awoke to the cold of the grungy-dirt tiles, his red fur had become unmistakably matted. Elmo could only guess how long he had been here, just that he must have been drugged. Now, in the dank, dark room he was in, Elmo came to his feet and groped at his swollen head, which had a massive gash in the side. It burned like a hot pot of coffee being poured into the eyes. His last memory on Sesame Street, the monster could not remember. All he knew was that he was not in Sesame Street anymore.

Vociferating into the darkest of rooms imaginable, Elmo couldn't see what he was shouting at, or to whom. Elmo could barely see an inch in front of him when he heard urgent ruffling in the corner of the room. The ruffling became the noise of movement, and Elmo turned towards the noise.

"They can't hear you in here, nobody can," was what Elmo heard, the words whisping through the damp air like fog. The voice sounded strikingly familiar to him, like someone from Sesame Street. _No, it couldn't be_, Elmo thought to himself.

Suddenly, six pairs of fluorescent light bars clinging to the ceiling lit up in a row, and the masked room turned over to the brightest fluorescent shine Elmo had ever seen.

The room was terrible. It looked like a deserted holding-cell for prisoners, hostages, left empty to gather dust and grime. There was a toilet in the corner with a heart drawing, probably drawn with defecation excrements with ones finger. There was a germ-infested bathtub near the toilet, and a dust-coated glass window above him.

"Hello? Who's there?" Elmo asked to the figure slouching in the corner, head hung down.

"It's me, Rosita," said the furry-blue figure seated silently against the detestable wall.

"Rosita!" Elmo exclaimed. "Oh, so good to see you! Where are we?" Elmo's excitement promptly evaporated into concern and interrogation.

Rosita paused before answering the previous inquiry. "...We are...I don't know. I just woke up here about five," she said holding up five fingers, "minutes ago and found this on my ankle," she held up a chain which was clamped onto her ankle and to the wall beside her blue-furred body.

Elmo turned his gaze below him, to his ankle. The furry red ankle was chained to a nearby wall, just as Rosita before him. Elmo tried to break away, but the chain would not fragment. Dismaying, Elmo glanced around the room once more, his agonizing red head almost snapping back. The cell was clearly a grimy scene, and the air smelt like a putrid stank which burned Elmo's nostrils, the fine hairs within, and Rosita's as well.

Rosita began to speak again. "And look what I found extended out of my arm when I woke up," Rosita said shakedly, grasping down to her side for something and brandishing it openly. A needle. Elmo glimpsed below to the tiled floor where he had previously awoken from. There, too, was an emptied needle fit for a monster, still containing traces of the medical drug utilized. Rosita started again. "Es muy loco!" she replied in Spanish. She was always speaking Spanish.

Elmo declined to his knees again and wept in pain and confusion. He wept for himself, and wept for Rosita, one of his exceptional acquaintances.


	2. Chapter 2

Elmo aroused onto his heels once again and initiated investigation for something, _anything_, that could assist, whether it be get rid of this agony of leave the dirty holding cell for permanence. Elmo reluctantly extended his furry scarlet hand inside the toilet near Rosita, only to feel the dewy and sticky human waste. Retrieving his hand as if he had just been in a near-death experience, Elmo went over to the bathtub, which could have been just as musty as the toilet, and penetrated his hand into the freezing cold liquid to bathe his contaminated paw. Once, with hand in water, it felt chilling but refreshing, and unlike everything else in the room, the water was not nauseatingly putrid. Excavating his fist deeper into the cold muck, Elmo approached something which felt to be an anomaly in a bathtub. It was plastic, and, when Elmo took a further examination into the vessel to see what he was regarding, visibly resembled the familiar sight of a trash bag, which he often saw Oscar the Grouch surrounded by in his tin trash can.

Retrieving the scummy bag, Rosita's eyes augmented and glimpsed to her acquaintance in approval. The plastic bag was prolonged in a shape, most likely to contract to the appearance of its contents. Elmo glanced over to the furry blue monster.

"Should I open it?" he interrogated, not attempting to secrete his frightened emotions.

"Yes, just...be careful," responded Rosita, knowing it was always best to take safety precautions.

"Ok," Elmo approached the plastic bag with his right hand (which was not holding the bag) gingerly, to tear the obsidian plastic away from the contents. Commencing the procedure, the bag lacerated open by the assistance of Elmo and the contents immediately fell to the grime-encrusted tiled floor.

A saw.

"Are we supposed to cut off our chains?" interrogated Rosita, surprisingly cheery at the time of desperation and terror, yet drastically uncertain.

"Elmo thinks so!" retaliated Elmo, and he perched back down on the floor and immediately began to hack away at his imprisoning chain. It was enduring, and defiant, but he knew the common tool was placed there for a significant reason.

After about 40 seconds of trying, a frustrated Elmo eventually admitted failure and presented the saw to Rosita, without any speaking. She, too, commenced the process, without any positive results as well. Almost crying, Rosita rested her head in her fuzzy lap where she was against the corner wall and exclaimed.

"¡Calidad!" was all Rosita could muster, and she began to solemnly weep once again. Elmo couldn't endure witnessing his acquaintance in dire need like this, so he frantically rummaged for another item in the dark, nearly unsolid trash bag, now in messy shambles on the floor. Groping inside the remaining crevices (not very many) Elmo couldn't recover anything. Attempting once more by shaking the bag vigorously up and down, and to both of the monster's surprises, a teensy voice recorder popped out onto the floor, almost shattering on contact.

Elmo and Rosita shared glances of pure surprise, assuming the device at hand was some sort of cell phone for which they could dial their way to safety, but it was merely that. Elmo grasped the electronic item from the tiles and held it to his ear, invisible under his red coat of fur. Then detecting no dials, he examined the item more meticulously. It seemed to have several buttons and a surface area for a speaker. Then pressing a button which read in bright red letters "Eject", a miniature cassette protruded from the side. Curiously, Elmo knew right to push the cassette back into what he now realized was a voice recorder/player and pressed the red PLAY button. The red monster in shackles presented the recorder for both to listen. The miniature cassette began to play:

"Elmo and Rosita: Today you play a game for your life. All your life you teach other children valuable lessons on an educational television program, entitled "Sesame Street". You have been around on television for almost countless seasons, and for that I applaud you. The reason I have you here in this empty chamber is to teach _YOU_ a lesson. A lesson about life. The problem is, a television program about numbers and letters is almost into its 40th Season, and my pilot, "1001 Torture Tactics", never made it to a single television screen. For this you will pay. You are now breathing in carbon monoxide, which will surely kill the both of you. If you truly possess the will to survive, you will escape the cell you are now in Scot-free. Today's message is brought to you by the word "DEATH" and the number "1", as in you have just one hour to get out of here alive before the doors to this cell close forever. Goodbye." There was a crackle of static, and then the cassette playing ceased.

Elmo and Rosita: both monsters looking stupefied, dispensing facial expressions of bewilderment. Rosita hung her head down again and shook it, as to disapprove. Elmo started to feel a surge of negativity in his throat and he coughed up a handful of blood into his hand. Delightful.

"What does he want with us?" Rosita asked, authentic fear in her porceline eyes. Elmo felt it too, and he could not deny the feeling of someone eavesdropping onto their sparse conversation. The red monster wanted to answer Rosita's question, but he couldn't.

"The tape says he wants us dead," and he had to shudder when he said it, "because we have Sesame Street, the television program. Elmo says that's just silly!" It seemed like a "silly" time to be laughing to Rosita, but Elmo always had that sense of humor which didn't let anything get in its way. It almost lightened the ever-so-dark mood in the grimy cell.

"Of course it is 'silly', but he's doing it anyways. Maybe we should try to reach the door," remarked Rosita courageously. "Do you have anything long enough so we can throw it at one of the doors and maybe open it?" she probed, noticing the two possible exits from the dead cell. Elmo considered this, investigating the quarters for maybe a yard stick or a ladder, if possible. There were none. The distressed Muppet traiped over to the toilet, which could almost inconceivably contain anything besides human defecation, and he already knew it. Maybe in the bathtub?

Elmo recognized that it would be totally impervious to find two beneficial items concealed in the same container, even one, for that matter, but it was worth an attempt. Grasping his sprawled fist into the brisk depths of the bathtub, Elmo witnessed something unbelievable. Of course! All elder bathtubs, no matter what shape, should always have one key feature, and that was the bath plug. The bath plug, as most people know, keeps water from leaving the tub. They are usually made connected to some sort of chain, which would be perfect for swinging at a door and perhaps attaching to the door knob and opening the passage way.

This bathtub contained that kind of bath plug. It was of the correct length, and cast of a sturdy metal. Elmo perceived his apparent luck and grasped the rust-covered feature. Now dislocating it away from the tub, Rosita had the opportunity to see Elmo's jovial ascertainment. It was about four feet in length. Now directing her attention to the two doors before her, Rosita began the unsure scheme:

"I think, since you're closer to your door than I am, you should try." Rosita assisted, now looking entirely aware of her immediate surroundings. She nodded to her companion to begin the optimistic pursuit.

Arching his legs into a standing-split, Elmo crept to his limit (which his chained ankle would allow) and readily swung the bath plug in a circular motion to his right utilizing his right hand. Since the door was not facing him directly, it was harder for Elmo to see the door knob, which was a rusted metal knob, practically falling off of its base at the also metal door.

_Swing!_ went the rusty-silver chain, in an unsuccessful attempt by Elmo, colliding with the lower segment of the door until he jerked it back and commenced another blithe endeavor. There were three more attempts from Elmo, and each concluded in miserable failure. The Muppet determined this was the final effort before submitting to unabridged failure, and Rosita could ascertain. Contributing 100 of his effort, Elmo whipped the once-coiled bath plug chain at his target...and failed, distressed, once again.

"Elmo, let me try!" Rosita offered. Rosita knew it was only courteous, and albeit she was more distant from her imminent access, maybe she was more capable of performing the current task.

Conceding miscarriage, Elmo thrusted the chain, this time not at any door knob, but across the tattered tiles of the cell to Rosita, his blue monster confrere. Rosita genuflected downwards to receive the worn bath plug and captured the gift. _How curious_, she presumed, _that I was only coming back from my weekly shopping at Hooper's Store with an arms full of groceries_. It must have been only a mere _"uno minuto"_ from unfastening the door to her untimely kidnapping. She recollected positioning away the last of her brussel sprouts in the refrigerator and being taken from behind, a stranger's hand concealing her mouth to intercept the audacious screams then emitting from her gaping mouth. It was truly terrible, especially when the kidnapper decided to give Rosita a shot in the arm with an unidentifiable medicine. Goodness, Rosita hated shots, especially when they were not from the usual safety of a doctor's office. The next thing she remembered was drowsily waking up to God-knows-where, a dark, musty room with sooty tiles beneath her near-lifeless body.

_Miss!_ Rosita had barely identified that she had swung the bath plug and misfired just like Elmo. Chain swaggling back to her furry ankles, Rosita attempted once more, and to Rosita and Elmo's surprise, the attempt was viable. The chain eased around the tattered knob, the loop meeting perfectly. Fastening the wiry loop to compaction, both monsters half-worried that the elderly knob, in its latter-day, would indubitably expire and descend to the tiled floor. However, the handle proved to be a sturdy mass, attached firmly to the doors metal base. It would be perfect, however, their impending doom lessened that prediction considerably.

Elmo, at the other end of the cell and Rosita exchanged glances of glee and the good-willed scheme appeared to succeed to Rosita's satisfaction. She took the unlooped end of the bath plug chain and pulled for dear life, not to break their luck, but just enough to open up the metal exit. But the aperture would not dislodge, and Rosita could see why.

_Of course_, Rosita thought, wiping her blue forehead which was now filled with a mass of sweat beads._ You can't just magically open a door, you need to turn the door knob and push the passage OUT! Either that or the door is locked!_ It hit her like a massive yellow automobile, and it was sure to raise attention. Elmo, however, did not see the flaw in the scheme and was deeply confused.

"Rosita, Elmo wants to know why the door won't open. Why?" Elmo catechized, sounding like a meek Pomeranian in exasperation.

"Well, Elmo, you need to TURN a door knob to properly open it and pass into the other destination, or unlock the passage, and with this bath plug, we can not do that," Rosita aptly explained, with her exasperation unquestionably showing now. She was heavily panting, and the cell appeared to be gorging with evils, swimming around, invisible only to humans and monsters alike, whispering their devilish propositions, the kind of evils which would never reside in the ever-pleasant Sesame Street.

Declining from the situation altogether, Rosita relaxed back into the corner which she had so-unofficially called her own. Jagged plaster pieces littered the floor, and some chafed the monster's hind-quarters. She swatted them aside audaciously to her neighboring bathtub, which had served two purposes, neither of which really benefited wither monster in any way. Elmo, too, collapsed to the grundgy floor in aggravation. He was so desperate to emerge from this unsociable torture chamber, he would do almost anything. The tape explained the both monsters were breathing in something, the word which did not make a clear impression on Elmo, but it sounded hazardous, because it was either going to murder him and Rosita now, or the lesser likely, in which both monsters would survive. And the latter was imperceptibly possible.


End file.
